By Grace, Asura
by Kitty Ryan
Summary: Updated: 24.11.05. Councilmen are just as capable of love as anyone else. Dameon had a father who loved him, and a future very different to the one he lived out. Once, he was a child who felt things
1. Prologue: A Begining

**By Grace, Asura**

K. Ryan, 2005

* * *

_**A Beginning

* * *

**_

Two small boys stood and shivered in the wind blowing from the eastern coastline of Arendelft, faces darkened by the shadow of council pillars.

They were of an age, around five years or so, wrapped up well with only their eyes visible between layers of coat and cloak and scarf, along with tufts of sandy hair. The two of them shared a high-colour from the chill, and seemed equally well fed, which was an uncommon thing in those times, but there all similarities ended.

The children were of different heights and builds. One small and delicate, with eyes of a soft, vulnerable blue where the other was going to be tall and already had a face full of mismatches, his eyes staring and white-blind.

"You're… angry with me," this blind one said, soft and clear—wondering.

"No!"

"Ye-es."

The smaller boy pouted, then tugged at his lower lip. "I don't _look_ angry," he murmured.

"But…"

"I'm ri-ight. You're _wrong_."

The other flinched and stumbled back. "Ugh."

"What's matter now? You're sick?"

"I…"

"Hoy, Dameon! Matteus!"

Councilman Ormond of Arendelft was a serious man by nature, low-voiced and reserved, but a smile was audible as he hailed the two children, and he was leaning only lightly on his Ur cane, which normally he could move only some few steps without. Behind him, two Herders with third and fifth-level armbands seemed less spry and more solemn, the littoral winds whipping greyish habits about their thin pale legs as they took to the stair.

The boys bowed deeply as the three men neared, Matteus reaching out a hand to make sure blind Dameon moved as he did, before realizing that there was no need to.

Ormond smiled visibly at this. "See," he said. "Look how Dameon manages so admirably on his own and yet still his cousin reaches to help him? I think my case has been demonstrated already."

The more senior Herder's response was without inflection. "Lud grants us laws for a purpose, Councilman. They must be followed."

Head still bowed, Dameon swallowed, Matteus shooting him a sidelong glance.

"Of course," said Ormond, extending a hand. Matteus took it immediately, looking hopefully up at the tall, older man and stretching out his own tiny fingers after receiving a proud nod. "Coming, Dameon?" he lisped.

Quietly, Dameon reached out and found the hand, stepping forward unerringly even under the eyes of the robed priests, despite a sudden bout of shivering.

"Dameon-lad?" Ormond's voice was level but worry cut through the child's body like a knife. More than anything, he wanted not to go through that door. To curl up in his own small room on his own bed and lie unmoving for a year. He wanted to let go of Matteus' hand to discover why it was hurting him, and yet he knew that he could do none of these things without wounding the man whose love and determination he could feel even though he could not see.

The blind boy raised his head, tightened his grip, and allowed himself to be led into the cavernous heart of the building, where there were echoes and questions.

* * *

"_Dameon, who are you?"_

"_A servant of Lud."_

"_Why do you live?"_

"_To serve, by the grace of Lud."_

"_What is the fate of those who do not serve Lud?"_

"_They become flame and poison—they share the cursed fate of the Beforetimers, who blackened the world."_

"_How did the Beforetimers blacken the world?"_

"_Through the vices: lust and pride and greed and…and avarice. Incautious congress and wonton destruction, wreaking abominations." _

"_Whence do we find these abominations, Dameon?" _

"_In those…in those forsaken by Lud, though they…they may be subtle in their…mani…manifest."_

"_What is the name Lud chains to these abominations?"_

"_Misfit."_

"_What is the role of the Council?"_

"_To be strong and preserve our lands from the taint of past evil."_

"_Is this a simple task?"_

"_No. It is arduous; to remind us we exist through the suffering of Lud."_

"_Do you understand the tasks of the Councilman?"_

"_I do."_

"_What of the Faction?"_

"_They speak with the voice of Lud."_

"_And you?"_

"_A servant of Lud."_

* * *

The main chamber echoed with the catechism, Dameon standing right at the centre, his eyes fixed in the direction of the two priests who were breathless and gleaming from their recitations. Dameon let his faint treble fade without adding anything more; he was repressing shivers.

The third-year Herder drew himself up. "The child is not Defective," he said.

"Though," mused the other, "there was some worrying hesitance—"

"—He's a _child_." Ormond stepped forward, laying a hand on Dameon's shoulder. "Most likely it was a problem with pronunciation."

"Youth is rarely any protector, Councilman, and the Black Arts are forever subtle. In this case, however—"

"You have ensured he is suitable. That is enough. I have not changed my decision."

The Herders remained calm in the face of the aging man's clipped words. "He is fit, Sirrah."

"Well then, the certificate!" Ormond—cane barely touching the floor, he seemed so light with relief—drew out a sheaf of documents bearing the Council stamp of Sutrium; placing them on the heavy wooden desk that stood in a corner of the chamber. "Esteemed Faction representatives, Matteus—help your cousin, now. Come on, Dameon."

Matteus gripped Dameon's arm hard, steering him towards the three-person crowd, whispering into the other boy's ear. "You made it, then."

There was no reply.

Ormond set down his cane, leaning forward to draw the two children to him. They were both barely tall enough for their heads to reach the top of the desk.

"Ormond of Arendelft, Councilman." Intoning the words, the fifth level towered over all in the room, eyes expressionless.

"That is I."

"You wish to pass the question of inheritance into the hands of Dameon, your son, who is free of the Defective taint, as is your right?"

"I do." The words lingered on his tongue. "I do, and should Dameon be unable in time to take this inheritance, I place Matteus as my secondary heir. He is my nephew and has been under my care some years. Always, however, shall my son be granted the first right to all after my death."

"You would have the Faction bear witness?"

"I would," said Ormond.

"We witness it," said the third level.

"Dameon is pronounced sole heir of Councilman Ormond of Arendelft, with Matteus to follow should there be any further questioning. Under the grace of Lud."

"Under the grace of Lud.

Dameon felt strangely ill as the two Herders took his hands, and it was all he could do not to faint—the steady, triumphant pulse that was his father at that moment preventing the boy from escaping quietly into unconsciousness.

Matteus, the sighted child, looked on.


	2. Invaluable Help

**By Grace, Asura**

K. Ryan, 2005

* * *

**1: "_Invaluable Help."

* * *

_**

There was, Dameon thought, simply nothing better than being seven-years-old and sitting under a tree in the warm, fleeting time before the Days of Rain. He could feel the sun brushing his face and seeping into his back through the smooth wood of his father's outdoor bench, along with the scent of growing things. There were even birds. Basking, probably. He'd been told that birds basked.

Contentment wrapped around him, mixed in with the warmth, and not all of it his own.

"Father," he said sleepily, eyes too heavy to open.

A startled laugh. "Are you sure you cannot see?" Ormond sat next to his son, close but not crowding, leaning down slightly to let the boy run quick, delicate fingers over the planes and lines in his face. Along the bridge of his nose and curve of his cheek, silk-light and shy around eye socket and brow. Solemn, with an almost ritual air, the man returned the caress, his own eyes closed against the light. Seeing. Basking. He felt his son smile.

"Seeing sounds…funny," he murmured.

Ormond chuckled. "_Funny, _Dameon?" Grinning, he tweaked the child's already long nose, something Dameon found himself blushing at; he was so unused to such things. "Laughter-funny, or funny peculiar?"

"Peculiar," he said, tasting the word. "You talk about things that…aren't here. Colours and shadows. But…don't _I _see? If you closed your eyes, would I just…" Dameon swallowed, biting his lip. "Would I just go away?"

"Where did you get that idea from, son?"

"I…I don't know. Not really. Seeing just seems like such an important thing…" Frustrated, Dameon straightened up, small hands clenched into fists.

"Never that important," said Ormond. "My eyes are closed right now, and I don't think I'm talking to any apparition or simulacrum, somehow."

Dameon reached up again and carefully let a fingertip brush against his father's lowered eyelids, feeling the rapid pulse that beat beneath them. "Simulacrums?"

"Simulacra in the plural, my dear. In this case, it means a copy—or copies."

"Oh."

"Think on it during your lessons," said Ormond. "But my point was that things don't have to be visible in order to exist. Problems, dreams, people: they won't ever just disappear."

Slowly, Dameon nodded. "You don't have to _see _me to know that I am here," he said, quiet. "You feel me."

Ormond's smile was indulgent. "If you like."

"I feel you," Dameon said.

* * *

"Well done, my boy. Well _done." _

There were no jubilant antics or embraces, no dramatic raise in pitch or general overt excitement, but the depth and pride within Ormond's voice as he looked over the painstakingly inked copybook made Matteus blush with pleasure. A pure thrill at his uncle's careful, deliberate emphasis on the word 'done'.

"Th-thank you, sir," he managed, only to be clapped on the shoulder.

"What will it take to have you call me Uncle, eh? Truly, your scribing is beautiful. Genuinely so. You have improved beyond expectations for your age.

Matteus' blush deepened. "Si—Uncle?"

"That's better. You have a talent. Moreover, you are observant, too, by the life of me." The old Councilman's voice softened as he continued to look at the boy, and he slowly ruffled his hair, making the gesture almost comically grave. "You are a Lud-granted blessing to me in my age," he said. "Your father would be proud."

"I try," said Matteus, stammering overcome and replaced by a shy smile.

"No. You succeed. Keep to your studies later the way you do now and you'll come to great things. Invaluable to Dameon."

Ormond didn't notice the boy deflate, the shine in his blue eyes hardening.

"—Truly _invaluable_..."

Matteus bit his fist so that he would not make a sound, before jamming his hands in his pockets. He still managed to lift his chin.

"I don't know what either of us would do without you. Run along. You deserve a break today."

He ran.

* * *

"You'll be a fake, you know."

Dameon did not rise from the small desk-chair in his room as Matteus pushed his way through to meet him and poke his chest. "When Uncle Ormond dies it'll be _me _doing _everything_. You'll just be the face—an _ugly _one, not that you'd know it."

"What do you—"

"—he _told_ me, stupid," Matteus' voice and eyes both were choked with tears and mucus. You won't be able to get anywhere without me! You can't even _read_."

Dameon stepped back, and when he spoke he sounded perplexed, his still-high voice wavering. "Please stop," he said.

"Please stop!" the other boy mimicked, hiccupping. "You are _stupid_."

"Why…why are you upset?"

"Because you're stupid and I _hate _you."

Dameon's gasp was loud in the silence that followed his cousin's scream. His hands were doing things he had not told them to do, moving to his throat and face when he winced, muffling his voice, as he whispered, "no, you don't."

It was the second time that day where Matteus' found himself deflating as if he were a bladder pricked by a pin. "You're _strange_, Dameon," he whispered, suddenly drained and, for no reason that his seven-year-old self could understand, not now and never later, feeling as if fear was washing over him in waves.

With one last bewildered look, he left the room.

Dameon slumped in the chair, breathing hard. "Can't I…there are scribes, aren't there?" he said to the deaf room, but he was not really thinking about scribes, or even being a Councilman, at all.


End file.
